I grew up in a modest story and a half home in southwest minneapolis. My parent's had the home built in 1952 and lived there until 1998 when they moved to what could be called their dream home in Eden Prairie. After 46 years in the same home, neither packing nor tossing was something they had developed an aptitude for; and when moving day finally came, it is safe to say that almost everything was transplanted into the Eden Prairie house.
The home was duly decorated, and boxes containing things that were too good to toss, too important to give away, but which had no immediate use, were relegated to the basement... unfinished and plenty of room for storage. Among the heirloom china, silver, photos and other family mementoes was a number of WWII magazines my father was keeping. My father was always interested in the stories that came from those who served, as he did, in WWII. He had started a subscription, but since he continued to work full time he had not found the time to read them, and so kept them for when he retired.
In 2004, working part-time and wanting to be closer to their old neighborhood, my parents traded their home in EP for a moderately sized condominium in Edina. As we culled through the various boxes, I asked again about the magazines. I had found another 6 years worth in various boxes...untouched. My Dad was sure that he wanted to keep them to read once he retired. My Mom rolled her eyes, failing to see the symmetry with her collection of un-started and partially completed sewing projects being saved for that same magical day. Picking my battles, I consolidated the magazines into a single box and stored it away for another day. Where the sewing went, I had no idea.
In 2008, not liking the condominium living and contemplating where to move, my parents sold their condo and moved temporarily into a rental town home. Four years had taken its toll on my parents' health, and despite my encouragement, nay pleas, that we hire packers as well as movers, I found myself packing up another home, but this time with my daughter's help. We pulled out the box of magazines, added 4 more years to the stack and re-closed it. Still no sign of the sewing... was it possible it had been "cleaned out"?
Summer 2009 was a crazy string of medical issues and Fall 2009 found both my parents in care facilities with no sign of them being able to return to independent living. With the help of friends and family, we packed up again, but with little time or emotional energy to filter through the 58 years of collected possessions, including the box of WWII magazines.
As many of you know, we lost my mother in Feb of 2010. I've moved my father 2 more times and the box has moved with him. He has gone through various illnesses, and stages of dementia. His days are pretty quiet now, but some times he reads; comprehension comes and goes. He loves the large print Bible we got for him, and reads it somedays with success, somedays without. The print in the magazine is too small though, and the process of using a magnifying glass to read is frustrating. So the box sits in the closet, at least until I am healthier and can spend more time there reading to him. Reading together is one of our joys.
It can make me sad to think of this box, but I know there is something to be taken away. The magazines represent many things: lost time; the putting off of our passions for our daily routine; life's ever surprising turns and twists that take simple pleasures and make them complex challenges; and yet, it also represents an opportunity to connect over shared pleasures - mine of reading, his of WWII stories.
And it makes me wonder, what have I "stored away" for that magical day when I'll "have more time"?
I was fortunate enough to take a trip to England and Paris with my daughter last spring. We had talked of doing that for years, and as her graduation loomed I didn't want to put it off any longer. So glad we didn't. And I have always wanted to write. I wrote in college and took every course I could, and then, just stopped. Life's "priorities". But here I am, blogging ... it's a start, and one I plan to continue. Then there are the relationships... people I had lost touch with when all it would have taken is a call, or an email. I am working through that list to get in touch with each one.
And I do this, not because of cancer, but because of that box. Life is surprising and it all goes by so fast. Whether you live to 50, 70 or 85, as my Dad will be this year, life goes by and before you know it, you have a "box" of things you meant to do. Things you were passionate about and somehow let life, and work, and chores and tv, push aside. And you can start small, taking just a little time to focus on a loved one, to volunteer, to travel, to draw or paint or sculpture, or learn to swim or sing or go back to school, to reach out to old friends, make new ones, or mend broken relationships. But it won't happen if we don't start.
When my time comes, God-willing a long long time from now, I hope it will be said that I followed my passions: time with with family and friends, time of service to others, and writing. Life provides the opportunity if we only open our eyes, and our hearts and our minds, and it doesn't have to take a life-altering event for each of us to take that first step; but if you feel you need one, please borrow mine...
p.s., I found the sewing, it was in a box. I have it at my home, along with my mother's beautiful sewing machine. It is also my motivation. With the help of a dear friend, whom I reconnected with recently, I plan to re-learn to sew and complete a service project - an idea that "hatched" over the last few months. Don't you love how life comes full-circle?
